All language subtitles for tales_of_the_unexpected_s07e04_have_a_nice_death

You suggest in your novel that women are
all masochists, Mr. Lee. Is that your

personal experience?

I present women as I know them to be.
The success of Women Weeping would

that I'm right.

But surely at this point in time, when
women are gaining leading positions in

many areas... That will affect the
positions they take up in the sex war.

that ongoing action, women are still a
weaker sex who long to be dominated by

men.

old -fashioned view. A rather old
-fashioned species.

Women have been the weak text from the
beginning of our existence. Are you

objecting that a few years of voting and
unisex is fundamentally changed? Oh, I

don't agree. You may wear well -tailored
suits and smoke cigars, but at heart

you're still the same eminently
crushable creature as you've always

You're a real tiger, sweetie, when
you've got a half a bottle of bourbon

you.

Well, whether we agree with Sam Luke's
reactionary ideas or not, we all have to

agree that women weeping is a runaway
success.

And who argues with success in New York?

Who indeed?

You know, it's a pity Zara isn't here to
bask in your reflected glory

like a good little wife.

Good little wife indeed.

You know, she wouldn't hear her coming
to New York.

A vulgar circle, he considers this.

Apotheosis of my career. Little wife
Zara doesn't deserve any glory.

But, uh, I deserve a drink.

Where is it, I wonder?

Ah, look.

You're impossibly macho without her.

Well, I gotta go look after the shop.

Uh, Joanie! Come in, come in.

Come by with those copies for the mayor,
okay?

Lovely.

Sammy, I promised Zara no bars.

What do you want it, sir? Where it was
before Miss Jansen had it removed.

It's full of goodies, I hope. Yeah, you
got the works in there, Mr. Luke.

Yeah, she'll like your book, sir.

Oh, thank you. I ain't read it yet, but
it sounds real good to me.

Sign here.

We got to keep them women in their
place, eh, sir?

He's biting a good bite. Hey, right on,
Mr. Luke.

All right, see you now.

Thanks.

Well, drink it dry, darling, and the
rest of British luck to your liver.

Sam, you are such a naughty boy.

Big boys are clodder.

So I shall inform the lovely Zara if she
ever gets around to ringing me.

Now remember...

Joanie is coming by with the
presentation copies for you to sign for

and his staff. And don't forget to
write, I love New Yorker. And have a

day, of course.

And have a nice day, of course.

Bye.

Is she in?

Get in there quick, kid, and keep him
off the booze.

Oh, you're kidding.

How? Oh, come on. You'll think of
something, sweet son.

Hello? Zara!

You might have rung me yesterday.

Oh.

So how is your mother?

The timing's always perfect.

I don't know why you didn't get somebody
in to look after her. I told you I'd

pay. I've got money now. Lots and lots
of money.

All those lean years, as soon as I land
the jackpot, you abandon me.

Hmm?

Well, I'm mostly on television during
the day.

Alone.

Except for the chat show host and 40
million people.

Everybody loves me here.

Even the guerrilla in immigration knew
about the book.

It's the friendliest city in the world.

Look, I've got to go now.

Joanie's here.

Joanie, a clod of secretary, man of
Friday.

She's blonde, petite and gorgeous.

She'll be here to keep an eye on me.

Yeah, I know you'll trust me.

Sometimes I wish you didn't trust me.

Hello?

Hello?

I think your wife's lovely, Mr. Luke.

Zara.

Who is that? I can't hear you.

I have to get these back to the mayor's
office.

Was anything wrong?

I'm not.

Hello, operator. Was that an outside
call?

Pardon me, Mr. Luke. I said, was that...
Never mind.

All right, sir. Have a nice day now.

If we can get these over to the mayor's
office today, we could get two or three

paragraphs tomorrow.

Trial.

Trial!

What care we for odd paragraphs?

We are a television celebrity, Joanie.
We are unamused by grubby little

journalists.

Or by cranked telephone calls.

Now, tell me about yourself.

I expect you're a lovely, American, more
-than -average girl who is searching

for a meaningful, ongoing relationship
and, meanwhile, fantasizes rather a

lot. Am I right?

Oh, gosh, Mr. Luke.

You really do understand women.

Oh, Sammy dearest.

And drink up. Drink up, my babe.

Well, after that, I just couldn't get it
together.

I mean, that so -and -so really messed
me up.

My head was like one of those glass
balls with a snowstorm going on inside

You know what I mean?

And every time I thought, what a sucker
I'd been.

How dumb.

I mean, how dumb can you get?

Well, after that, I just wasn't into
men.

Not even when I fantasized.

Fantasized.

And his eyes on to his thighs.

But here's the strange thing.

Though I hated him for all the hurt he'd
caused me,

I sort of missed it in a way.

It was like there was an empty space
where the pain used to be.

Oh, my God.

I just don't know how you see these
things.

Like you've got X -ray eyes, Sam.

Well, that's enough about me.

I'm not very interesting.

Just sort of normal, I guess.

Let's talk about you, Sammy.

Sammy?

Who's that?

Hello?

God almighty, who the hell was that?

Sounded like a man imitating a woman.

The city is full of nutcases.

Morning, Mr. Luke. Got them for you.
Special delivery, marked urgent.

What time is it?

Uh, just after 11, sir. Oh, Lord.

I've missed something, I'm sure.

Hey, would you believe it?

My grandmother saw you on TV last night.

She's 83, but sharp as a tack. Oh, say,
go open it for me, will you? Oh, yeah,

sure, Mr. Luke.

Anyway, she thinks you're number one,
sir.

I'm gonna buy her a copy of your book.

Why bother? Have some of these.

Oh, hey, that's great.

Hey, could you write something in it?

You could just sign it, To Grandma Ethel
from a friend, Sam.

It'll tickle her to death.

There's never been an ambition of mine
to tickle old ladies to death.

I'll try anything once.

Copy your book, Mr. Luke.

And a letter.

It's much personal.

I don't know.

Shall I put it with the others?

Keep it.

Oh, hey, thanks a lot.

Could you write something in it?

Are you all right?

So what the hell's going on?

I wish I knew.

Who would want to do a thing like that
to you?

Just about any liberated lady in New
York. Oh, my God, Mr. Luke, look.

Have a nice death.

What do you know?

But, baby, give this in perspective a
joke, boy. Joke? That's all it was. No

got hurt. You, my dear Clodagh, were on
the receiving end. What about the

message? Have a nice death and those
obscene folks. I tell you, it is no

I do not find it funny.

Poor Danny.

Thank you. I wish you hadn't cleaned up
the mess.

Bob could have taken pictures. It would
have made a great story.

Why, and I hang myself in the lavatory,
Clodagh, dear, and Bob can take pictures

of that, too.

That's it.

Of course.

I'm not serious.

Don't be silly. No!

I mean, you can never tell what these
jokers will do.

But we can protect you with...

I'm calling a press conference tomorrow.
We're going to make this work for us.

You're going over big now, but a story
like this, properly handled, everybody

will want to read Women Weeping. I want
to go home! Dollface, you've got to look

at this with a cool professional eye.
Just remember, every time some crazy

liberated broad attacks, you, you've got
to collect the royalties on another

thousand copies of Women Weeping. You've
got to make time, newsweek, maybe even

60 minutes. That's the biggest type
there is. We're going through the roof,

baby. Clodagh, dear, my life is being
threatened.

I take that very seriously indeed.

Sure. Thank you.

Everybody gets assassinated in this
heathen country. Well, I don't intend

a martyr to my art. The circus is
concluded. Clodagh, I'm staying in this

only long enough for things to quieten
down so I can slip out of the back door

and run now.

Get me London.

England.

2589 -299.

We'll hire guards for you and we'll
search anyone who comes near you.

And I will give you an increased royalty
deal on your next novel.

Really? Yeah.

But you've got to stick with it, kid.

Just a few more days and Women Weeping
will be number one. I guarantee it. Now,

I must fly.

Please give me a ring.

Johnny, look after our boy.

No problem.

Bye, Bobby. And stop worrying.

All this is worth a fortune.

Yeah, Zara. Give her my love.

Now, I must run.

Zara, look.

You've got to come over right away.

I'm getting all sorts of... Unpleasant
friends. Keep that whimpering and get

happy. Do whatever you have to.

Oh, no problem.

I think I'm beginning to relate to Sam.

Does anybody just do it anymore?

Have fun.

You don't understand, sir. I'm being
threatened.

My life is being threatened, sir.

Well, in that case, have a nice day.

Sometimes I have this vision that women
are an alien species. They're probably

from some black planet on the outer
edges of the galactic system. Centuries

they sprayed the Earth with amnesia gas
and infiltrated our planet.

And we woke up believing they had always
been here.

Now we're witnessing their final victory
as they take over our professions, our

clothes, our potency, our sexual
positions and most of our worst habits.

they're alone, they communicate with one
another in a disgusting secret language

which sounds like Japanese mixed with
the cries of small birds.

Is it too late to confront and denounce
them? Perhaps it is.

And yet, despised man must make one
final, if hopeless,

effort.

Well, Sam, what can I say after that?
Except that Stag, the magazine for real

men, is right behind you.

Thanks for a great piece, Sam.

Oh, that was so neat, Sam.

I just loved it.

Fill me up, I think.

So, we'll wrap up.

Thanks again, Sam. Our readers are going
to love it. And I guess it won't do

weeping women any harm, either.

Women weeping.

Whatever.

Thanks a million, Bob.

You've just got to be the greatest
interviewer in the business.

Well, I think you're cute too, hon.

Let me get you that drink.

Or maybe... Or maybe what?

Well, I had this boyfriend once who was
terrific at pressure points and massage.

What really does release all your
tension, Sammy, I could, you know,

your neck or something.

Well, that is if you like.

I mean, it is better for you than a lot
of toxic alcohol.

A little light, my son.

Why not?

And a drink.

Sometimes I feel like my whole body is
just one terrific erogenous zone, you

know? I know, dear, I know. Stop
talking.

Oh, Sam.

We really are relating so well.

Oh, no, that'll be Clodagh screaming.

Yes? Mr. Sam Luke, the great author,
please.

Mr. Luke is busy right now. Can I help?

Okay.

Is it a man or a woman?

Couldn't really tell.

You take it.

Mr. Luke is real busy.

I'll take your message.

The message for Mr. Luke is have a nice
death.

They just said have a nice death.

Okay, Clota, I'm going back to London
straight away.

Mick Jansen, please, right away.

Well, cut in.

Hello, Clota, he's just had another
call.

No, I took it.

Look, he's packing.

Going straight back to a little old
country where a man may still express a

civilized opinion without being picketed
or threatened with assassination.

Zara was right. I shall never have come
here. Never, never.

I'll tell him.

Okay.

Sam? Little old, lovely, bankrupt
Britain, here I come. Sam, Clodagh

Zara.

She'll be here tomorrow.

Zara?

She's coming after all.

Oh, thank God.

Mr. Luke, sir.

What do you want?

Your people sent over your fan mail, Mr.
Luke.

God, you look awful, Mr. Luke. You okay?

Don't ask.

Just don't ask.

I started to read your book.

I just love it. Thank you very much.

You really do look thick, Mr. Luke.

Shall I call a doctor?

No.

Well, have a nice day anyway.

The day is over. It's evening.

Yeah, sure. Thanks a lot, Mr. Luke.

Have a nice day now.

It's evening!

Do you understand?

Do you agree that it's evening here?

Well, yeah.

Sure. Good evening.

You take care of yourself, huh?

My sign is Sagittarius, and I'm sure
that you are a Scorpio, and very

like Richard in your book.

I think he is the most truly male
character since Red Butler.

I'm sure that if we could meet, we would
find that we related to one another

really well. Well, I'll throw that all
down.

Sammy Garland! Zara!

Where's Zara?

I need Zara, not you.

Miss Jensen.

Zara can't help you now, you drunken,
sexist pig.

What the hell is happening?

You're about to have a horrible
accident.

You have a nice damn tummy.

Look, I just

want to tell you how sorry I am.

I keep remembering the last time I
brought him his letters, when he got so

upset.

I mean, when I got him, he looked awful.

I never thought he'd do a thing like
that.

I should have stopped. I should have
made an excuse to come back in and clear

the glasses or something. I might have
talked him out of it.

The girl in switchboard, too, she said
he sounded desperate.

Yes. Thank you.

That's very kind of you.

Free at last, my darling. After all
these years.

Well, we are, my love.

Free and very, very rich.

It's lovely.

But I must try to stop thinking about
poor Sammy's awful accident.

Oh, well, let me help you, Angel.